goodbye, Thunder

I decided, in January of 2013, to get a cat.  I bought a litter box, cat food and toys, and a carrier.  Then I picked out a name and went to find a cat to match.  It didn’t take me long to find one I liked and though he didn’t care for the car ride home, he seemed happy enough when we got there. 

I let him out of the carrier inside and gently tossed him in the litter box so he knew where it was.

And so, I had a cat.

He learned his new name quickly and was usually waiting for me at the top of the steps when I got home.  If he wasn’t there I could call out “ThunderCat, hooooooo!” and he would come running.

It was his best trick.

He didn’t meow much, but he had an amazing purr.  Sometimes he would purr so loud and so forcefully that I was afraid he would hurt himself – but he just kept going.  We tried having him sleep in my bed at night, but the purr would keep me up.

If I was sick or had a bad headache, he would hop up on the bed or couch with me and lick my head.  It was his version of a “cat scan” – and I let him do it, though I would usually douse myself with hand-sanitizer when he was done since I knew where else he’d been licking.

Thunder kept me company in my house – following me around or checking in on me.  He didn’t like to be held or cuddled  – but would tolerate both for a time.  And the belly rubs were the very definition of softness until the claws came out and the session was over. Always on his terms.

There was excitement when he would race from window to window – tracking birds and squirrels and other neighborhood animals.  And a crumpled up ball of paper was sheer delight for my cat. But mostly it was lazy days of living his best life.

When Jim and I moved into a home together, there was an adjustment period.  The two dogs quickly learned to stay out of Thunder’s way and the Jim’s older cat Sophie and Thunder had a wary truce.  The younger Max and Thunder would yell at each other and the fur flew a few times – sometimes gray and sometimes orange.  As long as neither snuck up on the other, they settled down. 

Thunder seemed to be losing weight and I chalked it up to stress or being picky about sharing a food dish.  So, I started feeding him wet food that he couldn’t resist several times a day.  He enjoyed it, but it didn’t seem to help. 

Thunder started to spend less time sitting at my desk with me and more time in the basement.  When even the wet food wasn’t as enticing, I got him to the vet.  The bloodwork and the symptoms pointed to intestinal lymphoma – a common cancer in cats – and it explained the weight loss that no amount of “seafood shreds” could cure. 

He got much weaker and took to hiding behind the furnace in the basement – the warmest and safest part of the house – and wouldn’t come out or move much.  

Knowing that he was hurting and scared – and that he wasn’t going to get better – I talked to the vet and made the difficult decision to have him put to sleep for his own sake.

I made the appointment and then Jim and I loaded him into the car in his carrier – the same one I had first brought Thunder home in – for the last time. 

We got to the vet hospital and they had us wait in a room with him.  He purred a little while Jim and I both petted him and Thunder’s expressive tail moved slowly back and forth.  The tech came in and took him to get an IV put in, then brought him back on a blanket so I could hold him.  He was so small and fragile, but still purring in my arms. 

And then it was time to say goodbye. 

The vet came back in and gave him an injection.  His purring stopped and he fell asleep in moments.  She checked his heartbeat and he was already gone.  I held him a moment, then Jim helped me take off Thunder’s collar.  I was choked up, but managed to quietly thank Thunder for being my cat before the vet took him away. 

When we were alone in the room with an empty carrier, I lost it.  Jim tried to help console me, but he was in no better shape.

Finally, we settled down and after going through a ton of tissues we were ready to go.  I picked up the too-empty carrier and headed out into the cold.

When I got home, I called my folks to let them know what happened.  And as we talked, Jim’s cat Sophie hopped up on the bed with me to keep me company.  It was deeply sad, but comforting as well.

I had asked that Thunder be cremated and I’ll get his ashes in a few days.  I wrote a haiku in his honor and over time I’ll go through his things and see what we can use and what can be donated or thrown away.

Our home now has two cats and two dogs, but the mighty purr of Thunder is gone.  He was my cat and my friend and I will miss him.

Goodbye, Thunder(cat).